


Survive (As Best We Can)

by Gir_Hugs



Category: Snowpiercer (2013), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:25:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4709309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gir_Hugs/pseuds/Gir_Hugs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony shifts restlessly in his sleep and Bucky runs a soothing hand up and down his side.  A low whine rips from Bucky’s throat when he feels the bump bump bump of Tony’s rib cage.  <i>“What are we doing?”</i></p><p>“The best we can, Buck.”</p><p>“Are we?” Bucky looks up, eyes darkened by haunted shadows.</p><p>“We’re surviving,” Steve whispers and, back here, surviving really is the best they can do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Snowpiercer AU. For those unfamiliar: post-apocalyptic world where the world has frozen over and the only survivors are on a train. The survivors are separated into the front end and the tail end; people in the tail end live in horrific conditions.
> 
> WARNING: There will be character deaths and violence and disturbing themes consistent with this au.

**PROLOGUE**

 

The lights are flickering overhead, sending the back cars into grim darkness at random intervals. The sounds of crying women are quieter than before, and there aren’t any whimpering children any more.

Steve clutches the jagged piece of metal tightly, hoping that the torn denim he has wrapped around it is enough to keep the sharp iron from slicing through his hand. He peeks his head out of the cramped alcove into the main compartment; Bucky has been gone for too long.

“Hello, there.”

Steve startles and jerks his head around. There’s a group of three men, all much bigger than Steve, creeping closer. Steve has all but a moment to study them - blood on their clothes, hands, and mouths; wide, crazed eyes; real knives in their hands - before he’s abandoning his hiding spot and running down the main left passage.

Angry growls and heavy footfall chase after him as he runs. When he feels one of the men getting too close, Steve ducks and rolls under one of the center bunks and comes up running the opposite way in the parallel corridor. He can hear the men cursing as they scramble across the center divide and give chase once more.

Adrenaline pumps through his body, but Steve knows the energy surge won’t help for long. Steve was sickly and weak before boarding the train; being stuck in the train’s even more squalid conditions certainly has not improved upon Steve’s health. His lungs are burning and his heart beats harshly against his chest.

Steve runs as fast as he can - passing by compartments full of starving, unsympathetic people - and darts into a dark side passage when he sees it. He tries to quiet his harsh breathing as much as possible lest the noise give him away. Backing further and further away from the main walkway, Steve lets out a stuttering sigh of relief when he hears the men’s heavy boots stomp past his hiding spot.

The blonde rests his forehead against the cold metal wall for a moment, reveling in the fact that he’s still alive. A muffled noise has Steve snapping back to attention as he looks further down the narrow passage he’s hiding in.

“Hel-” Steve starts nervously, eyes straining to see in the dark. “Hello?”

There’s another quiet noise and Steve slowly creeps further into the dark. “Is someone there?”

He puts his hands out in front of him, feeling his way along until he hits a wall. He hears the noise again - it sounds like sniffling - louder this time and tilts his head to the left. Running his fingers along the side wall, he’s shocked when he feels an opening below his waist level. Kneeling down, he traces along the outer edges of the opening and determines it’s pretty small.

A small, raspy cough sounds and Steve peers curiously through the opening. His eyes have adjusted to the dark as much as possible and he can just make out a bigger compartment at the end of the four foot long crawlspace.

“Who’s in there?” Steve calls out, his voice shaking slightly from nerves. He figures it’s most likely a woman - or maybe a small teen like Steve himself - back there since the crawlspace is too narrow for an adult male, but in these desperate times, everyone is dangerous so Steve remains wary.

Just as Steve is weighing the pros and cons of actually investigating further or going back to where Bucky left him, he hears a hitching cry.

“Oh my gosh,” Steve freezes in shock for a moment before hastily scrambling through the crawlspace. He’s thinking he heard wrong, that it can’t possibly be - but no, there it is again. The very distinct, assumedly extinct, sound of a _baby_ crying.

As soon as he’s through, Steve is searching frantically. There’s a small window up near the ceiling of the compartment that casts the cramped room with silvery moonlight. The light is helpful, but it’s the small cries coming from a pile of thick blankets in the corner that leads Steve to the baby.

And it is, a _baby_. Small and weak, but alive and beautiful. Steve can feel tears prickling in his eyes, a wide grin stretching across his face.

“How are you _alive_?” Steve asks in wonder.

The babies had been the first to go. It’s merciful, they had said. There was no formula for them and the mothers were too malnourished to produce milk. They were _starving_ …so the babies had been first, and then the children followed. And now, it was just anyone weaker.

Steve reaches out towards the tiny little thing, brushing careful fingers through soft, downy locks. The crying subsides and the baby settles, only making an occasional whimper as it stares up at Steve with big, bright eyes.

And Steve is so caught up in this tiny, beautiful miracle that he doesn’t hear the shuffling behind him. Doesn’t register the approach of someone until there’s a strong grip on his shoulder and an angry - protective - growl in his ear.

“Get away from him.”

Steve yelps and spins, pushing the attacker away on instinct. Wide, shocked eyes stare up at him and Steve stares back at the small woman at his feet.

“Oh-” the woman lets out a small gasp, her eyes dropping down. Steve looks as well and crashes to his knees before her, his hands fluttering around the sharp metal lodged in her stomach.

“No,” Steve shakes his head in denial, vision getting cloudy as panicked tears form. “No, no, no.” He hastily strips his jacket off, pushing it to the wound to try and staunch the heavy flow of blood. “I’m sorry.” The woman pitches to the side and Steve rolls her onto her back. “I’m sorry, please, I’m so _sorry_.”

“Tony,” the woman looks to the side and Steve blinks through his tears to see the baby.

“He’s fine,” Steve rushes to reassure her. “I didn’t, I would _never_ , hurt him. I was just-”

“Hush, darling,” the woman’s lilting voice soothes his panicked rambling. “Misunderstanding,” she pats his hand. “Bring him here.” Steve doesn’t budge, not wanting to let up on the pressure to try and stop the bleeding - _oh god, why won’t it stop_.

“Bring Tony here,” the woman repeats, this time with a bit of steel in her voice. Steve shuffles to the corner and lifts the baby out of the blanket nest. He tries not to gag when he realizes he’s smudging blood all over the poor thing.

Cradling the baby in his arms, Steve holds the baby - _Tony, she called him Tony_ \- close enough for the woman to see.

“Ah, there’s my little duckling,” the woman smiles, eyes soft and fond. There’s a minute, where she just _looks_ at him, and then her eyes close and her mouth sets in a grim line. When she opens her eyes again, there is a fire in them that makes Steve, stupidly, naively, think that maybe she can pull through.

“He’s yours now.”

Steve stares back at her, blinking in shock, certain he must have heard her wrong.

“No, that’s,” Steve shakes his head. “You’re going to be-”

“What’s your name?” She cuts him off.

“Steve.”

“Alright, Steve. I’m dying,” she says and Steve opens his mouth to protest. “I’m dying, Steve,” she repeats in a harsh whisper. “I’m dying,” she repeats once more, a solemn note of acceptance in her voice. “And Tony is going to need someone to look after him. I need you to look after him for me, Steve.”

Steve shakes his head, but clutches Tony closer to his chest. “I can’t. Please, don’t ask that of me. I _can’t_ ,” Steve pleads, wanting her to take this responsibility back. He doesn’t think he’s going to last much longer himself; how can he possibly keep a baby alive?

“Promise me,” she grasps onto his arm, fingers barely able to keep hold. Her face is getting paler by the second and her chest heaves as she tries to draw in her next breath. “Promise me, Steve.”

Steve feels hot tears sliding down his cheeks, but he gives a shaky nod of acceptance. “Okay,” he agrees, sounding young and unsure even to his own ears.

The woman’s fingers tighten around his arm and Steve shies away from her pleading gaze. He recognizes the enormity of this moment, feels panic clogging up his throat, but then Tony squirms in his hold and Steve looks down at this tiny, innocent, trusting little baby in his arms and knows…

“I promise,” Steve vows fiercely, to the woman and the baby both. “I’ll take care of him.”


	2. If I Stumble...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Consensual sex between minor (17) and adult; implied child abuse.

Looking back, it’s unclear how Steve, of all people, had become the figurehead of the Revolution. Before he’d hit his series of growth spurts, most of the tail-enders hadn’t even noticed him beside Bucky. And even after he’d gained seven inches in height and packed on sixty more pounds of mostly muscle, he never took on any responsibilities in regards to the uprising.

Raising Tony had been his top - his _only_ \- priority and the other tail-enders knew that.

It’s the small moments of happiness combined with periods of immense tragedy, promises kept and manipulations wrought, that changed Steve’s goal from making sure Tony survived to giving Tony the life he deserved.

And being stuck in the back sector of Hydra Corp.’s global train, _Insight_ , is not the kind of life Tony deserves. Tony deserves so much more…and so Steve fights.

 

———

 

“Here.”

A small piece of paper is pushed into Steve’s hand and he carefully smoothes it out to read the printed message.

_A present to help you - Compartment 30, Locker 17_

“Do we know what’s there?”

Fury wheels himself to the side table and waves Steve over. “Schematics say that Compartment 30 is some kind of prison.” Brushing a finger over the faded map, Fury points to the compartment in question and reads the brief description underneath. “Two gun cabinets at each end. Thirty cryo-cells spanning the left-hand side.”

“So the present in Locker 17 is actually a person?”

“Most likely.”

“But we have no idea who.” And given where the person is located… “Are you honestly suggesting we trust someone we release from a prison cell?”

“I’m suggesting that we trust the message.”

Crumpling the piece of paper in his hand, Steve stares down at Fury with narrowed eyes. The man doesn’t so much as blink as he meets Steve’s critical glare.

“You’re awfully trusting of the messages.” It’s an accusation Steve has been wanting to throw for a while now, but he’s managed to bite his tongue in the past. This though…this is putting a lot of faith in a message from some unknown Hydra defector. “Why is that?”

“I have my reasons.” Over the years that Steve has gotten to know Fury, the man has proven to be extremely distrusting of people in general and not without reason. But Steve can’t recall a single instance in which Fury has shown even the slightest doubt about intel provided by the messages.

And even though Steve doesn’t fully trust the messages himself, he does respect Fury’s opinion. So, for now, he lets Fury’s cryptic response stand, but it still grates on his nerves to do so.

 

———

 

They wait a week to make sure the protein blocks are a stable food source, that Hydra Corp. is finally taking care of the back sector too, before deciding it’s safe enough for Steve and Tony to come out of hiding.

“There’s a doc,” Bucky leads Steve down the walkway and towards the very back of the train. “Some German guy. Erksine, I think? Anyways, he was busy treating all the amputees before,” he glances towards Steve’s haphazardly wrapped arm, mouth turning down into a frown, “but now Fury wants him to do check-ups on every tail-ender. That’s what we’re calling ourselves.”

“Who’s Fury?”

Bucky nods over towards some adults gathered around a pile of supplies and taking inventory of the meager belongings. They all seem to be deferring to the black man sitting in a wheelchair, red bandage wrapped around his stump of a right leg. He doesn’t seem even the slightest bit inconvenienced by his handicap as he barks out orders.

“That’s Fury,” Bucky points towards the black man. “He was the first.”

 

———

 

There’s pressure building in Steve’s head, compounded with the pressure he feels sitting heavy on his shoulders. The other tail-enders might view Steve as the face of the Revolution, but more often than not, Steve just feels like Fury’s puppet.

Knowing full well that Tony is always willing to lend a sympathetic ear to Steve’s venting about Fury, Steve heads over to the teen’s workspace.

“Why is Fury so god damned secretive?!”

The outraged words are met with a quiet whimper and Steve freezes in the entryway of Tony’s workspace when he sees Bruce hop off the stool and duck behind Tony. All of his ire is doused by sickening guilt and Steve immediately hunches in on himself to appear as non-threatening as possible. Tony flashes him a frustrated glare before turning to Bruce with a smile and kneeling down to be eye level with the cowering child.

“Do me a favor, Brucie, ‘kay? Bring this,” Tony pulls a few sheets of paper off his small table and pushes them into Bruce’s hands. “To Fury.”

Bruce shifts uncomfortably on his feet before leaning in to whisper something to Tony.

“Nah, Steve would never hurt me,” Tony shakes his head emphatically and Steve tries not to throw up as his stomach drops. “No matter how angry he is.”

The five year old glances over Tony’s shoulder and Steve tries to put on a reassuring smile despite how horrible he’s feeling.

“Sure?” Bruce asks, licking nervously at his busted lip.

Tony smiles at the kid sadly and softly brushes a thumb over Bruce’s bruised cheek. “Promise.”

Stepping back, Steve gives Bruce plenty of room to exit, hating himself when the small boy pushes his back up against the wall and hedges around Steve. As soon as the boy is gone, Steve slowly steps into Tony’s workspace, his shoulders slumping with guilt. The teenager refuses to look at him, back tense as he reads over something in the large textbook on the table.

“How’s he doing?”

Tony sits heavily onto the stool, a loud thump sounding as he does so. “As well as can be expected.” Tony runs a frustrated hand through his hair and grits his teeth into a snarl. “Should’ve killed that kronol junkie sooner.”

There was a point in the past where Steve would have objected, would have tried to teach Tony about how that wasn’t the way things were supposed to work. That the Old World had practices like trial by jury and innocent until proven guilty, but Steve long ago accepted that the Old World is well and truly gone.

“Maybe,” Steve agrees, wrapping his arms around Tony and pressing a comforting kiss to the notch of his spine.

Even if they succeed in ending Hydra Corp.’s reign of oppression, the New World they build will be different. It will be a world fitting of these times and the people they are now.

 

———

 

“What are we doing, Stevie?” Bucky sounds lost as he watches over the small child between them. Tony shifts restlessly in his sleep and Bucky runs a soothing hand up and down his side. A low whine rips from Bucky’s throat when he feels the bump bump bump of Tony’s rib cage. _“What are we doing?”_

“The best we can, Buck.”

“Are we?” Bucky looks up, eyes darkened by haunted shadows.

“We’re surviving,” Steve whispers and, back here, surviving really is the best they can do.

“We’re _dying_ ,” Bucky hisses, fingers tapping against Tony’s ribcage in emphasis. Steve wraps an arm around the child and shifts closer, offering what little body warmth he can to stop Tony from shivering. When Steve looks back up to his friend, Bucky is staring intently at the gnarled scar spanning across Steve’s arm.

“It’s better than before.”

Bucky traces a gentle finger over the scar, mouth pressed into a grim line. “But not good enough.”

 

———

 

“Hey buddy.”

Steve shifts, eyes blinking open slowly when he hears the hushed whispering. A body presses up against him as Tony shuffles over to make more room on their cot. There’s a small silhouette hesitating to climb up next to them, but Tony makes encouraging noises and coaxes Bruce under the thin blanket.

“Are you sure Steve won’t mind?” Bruce asks, voice small and nervous, panicky in the way he always gets around unfamiliar people. He’s comfortable with Tony, has learned to trust the teen through countless interactions in the past few years, but he’s only been tangentially aware of Steve as Tony’s friend or as the leader of the Revolution.

“Wanna hear a secret?” Tony whispers conspiratorially, waiting until Bruce nods his head and leans in close. “Boss man’s a secret cuddler.”

Steve opens his eyes just enough to see through his eyelashes and catches sight of Bruce pushing himself up onto his elbows to peek over Tony’s shoulder at him. The small boy raises a disbelieving eyebrow at the teen.

“Really?”

In order to lend credence to Tony’s claim, Steve lets out a sleepy grumble and wraps an arm around Tony’s waist, dragging him even closer.

“Told ya so.” Amusement plays at the edges of Tony’s voice and Steve presses his face into the back of the teen’s neck to hide his grin from Bruce. Tony squirms and laughs when Steve’s beard rasps against his bare skin.

“Now come ‘ere.” There’s more shuffling as Bruce settles in and Tony makes a show of lifting Steve’s arm with exaggerated difficulty and settling it back down so that Steve is curled around both Tony and Bruce. The two adults wait with baited breath as Bruce tenses, deciding for himself whether he will allow the comforting touch. After a moment, all tension slips from Bruce’s body and he tucks his head under Tony’s chin.

“G’night.”

 

———

 

Steve hisses out a swear as he tips over the side of the bed and lands roughly on the floor. Neither Bucky or Tony so much as twitch, both dead to the world and blissfully unaware as they sleep on.

Since his last growth spurt, Steve is now taller and bigger than Bucky, so fitting all three of them on a single bed has become somewhat of a challenge. Tony usually sleeps in the top bunk, but he’s recovering from a cold and likes the additional comfort and warmth of sleeping between them. Even though Bucky will never admit to being a cuddler, he likes having Tony in their bed so that he can wrap himself around the boy and sleep peacefully, comforted by the knowledge that Tony is okay.

Grumbling to himself, Steve levers himself off the floor, looks woefully at the pile of warm blankets, and wonders how difficult it would be to free one from the ridiculous tangle of limbs. With a longing sigh, Steve snatches his and Bucky’s jackets from the bedpost and climbs up to the empty cot above. The jackets definitely aren’t good replacements for warm bodies and blankets, so it takes a while for Steve to fall back asleep, his body shivering as it adjusts to the lack of soothing warmth.

 

———

 

More than half of the tail-enders are still gathered in the compartment after the morning handout, huddled in small groups and chatting quietly as they mindlessly chew on their protein blocks. Despite the large number of bodies gathered, the back sector is still uncomfortably cold. Steve can’t remember the last time he felt warm.

He takes stock of those gathered, feels the oppressing lethargy that hangs over the tail-enders like a fog. Faces are growing more and more gaunt, cheek bones becoming more prominent. The population has been slowly recovering but the supplies provided by Hydra Corp. have practically been cut in half over the last few years.

That’s why Fury keeps shortening the deadline to the Revolution. Preparation must be thorough, of course, but there is a rabid desperation brewing within the tail-enders. Steve is confident they’ve forged enough bonds amongst themselves that they would never fall back into the horror of the Starving Time, but Fury isn’t willing to take any chances.

“Steven!”

The blonde turns to see May ambling towards him with an earnest, mothering look on her face.

“Miss May,” Steve leans down to kiss her withered cheek and smiles when it earns him a small laugh. The old woman hasn’t been the same since Ben passed but it seems she is in one of her happier moods today. “What can I do for you?”

“You can take this,” she pushes a protein block into his hand and Steve frowns. They’d just gotten a new message yesterday. The next one shouldn’t have come in yet.

“It’s to eat, Steven,” May states wryly when she sees his confusion. “You need to be as strong as possible for when the fighting starts.”

“No,” Steve tries to hand the protein block back but May staunchly refuses to accept it.

It isn’t surprising that May is putting someone else’s well-being above her own. She and Ben had always taken it upon themselves to lookout for the younger folk, but Ben used to make sure May never took on more than she could handle, never gave away more than they could do without. Now that he’s gone, Steve has to keep an eye out that she doesn’t sacrifice too much.

“You have to eat, May.”

“And I will, during the evening handout.” When Steve tries to hand the protein block back once more, May just swats his hands away like he’s a naughty child. “I don’t need to eat as much as you. I was going to give it to Tony, but I couldn’t find the skinny runt around.”

“May, I really must insist-”

“Rogers!” Hammer suddenly pops up beside them, latching onto Steve’s arm and dragging him away. Steve tries to escape but Hammer’s fingers just hook in tighter to Steve’s jacket. By the time Steve looks back, May is gone, and Steve resigns himself to suffering through whatever Hammer feels the need to discuss.

 

———

 

“He fell asleep during Hammer’s lesson again.” Steve moves to take Tony from May’s arms, thinking the boy must be too heavy for her to carry, but she just tuts and nods for him to move out of her way. “Says Hammer is a bumbling idiot.”

“We can talk to him.” He and Bucky have already tried to tell Tony that it’s inappropriate to belittle other people’s intelligence, but Tony is insistent in his stance that Hammer isn’t worth listening to. Thankfully, Tony is entirely respectful during his lessons with Erksine, Selvig, and Ben, so Bucky and Steve have been a little lenient in his disregard of Hammer.

They make it to the trio’s unit and May settles Tony down on the bottom bunk. “Don’t tell Hammer, but I’m fairly certain Tony could teach the lesson better than he could. I know the boy’s already read the textbook Hammer teaches from.” May gets that pained, longing look on her face that she often does when watching over Tony. “Too clever for his own good, this one,” she whispers, brushing gentle fingers over Tony’s cheek.

“He reminds you of someone,” Steve observes carefully, recognizing this might be too tender a topic to discuss.

“We had a boy, before, Ben and I. A boy very much like yours - mischievous, brilliant, sweet, beautiful.” May’s eyes fill with tears and she offers Steve a bittersweet smile. “His name was Peter.”

 

———

 

“Hammer needs more steel for the Gate Buster,” Steve says, ticking another discussion point off his mental checklist.

Sadly, Tony hadn’t been around to make mocking faces behind the weasel of a man and so Steve had suffered through Hammer’s blabbering alone. It was somewhat fascinating that Hammer could make eating protein blocks an even more unpalatable experience than usual.

“We’ll be scrapping the Gate Buster,” Fury scans the list of supplies Red hands him. “Have him break it down and reconstruct the metal into panels that the woman and children can use for a barricade.”

“What?” Steve flounders, wondering why Fury is suddenly changing the plan. Steve, of course, has no objections to it since he’d been trying to get Fury to invest in some defenses for months now, but Fury hadn’t so much as budged on his all-out offensive plan before. “Why?”

“Because Tony thinks he’s finally figured out the circuitry map.”

“Is that so?” Steve tries to keep the frown from forming on his face. The news is good - better than any of them had hoped for really - but it is disconcerting that he is hearing about the update from _Fury_ rather than Tony himself. Steve didn’t even realize Fury and Tony had been meeting without him.

“Yes, Tony believes he can rewire the gates so that he’ll have control over when they open and close. But as far as he can tell, only the first three gates run on the same circuit loop. Once we have control of those cars, he’ll have to open the subsequent gates one by one.”

Steve doesn’t even attempt to keep the frown off his face at the additional news. With this information comes the realization that Tony will most likely have to be part of the front line. Steve can’t order him to stay behind, stay _safe_. 

“I’ll have to give him proper training,” Steve thinks aloud. The play fighting he’s indulged Tony with over the years won’t be enough to keep the boy alive in a _real_ fight.

“Red’s already been teaching him how to handle a knife,” Fury admits calmly.

It hadn’t escaped Steve’s notice that the two teens had been sneaking off together, but he’d just thought they’d been rekindling their friendship, or maybe - Steve staunchly ignores the way his gut tightens in jealousy at the thought - finding physical gratification in one another. If he’d known Red was training Tony how to fight, he might have put a stop to it.

Steve looks at the silent shadow just behind Fury’s shoulder, feels a sense of betrayal lance through his chest. Red just meets his gaze evenly, face not showing even the smallest hint of remorse.

“I thought we agreed that Tony would be kept out of this as much as possible,” Steve says lowly, frustrated when Fury gives him an almost disappointed look.

“I think I’ve indulged your idyllic delusions long enough, Rogers. Tony is involved. And sacrifices are going to be made. You, more than most, should understand that by now.”

Steve is fully aware of how manipulative Fury can be. In the days following the Odinson Uprising, _everyone_ had been in a state of shock. But Fury…he had keyed in on Steve, one of the few strong men left, and made sure the blonde was not consumed by grief. Because grief is a paralyzing emotion. Grief would have made Steve _useless_.

And Fury had so skillfully chosen the right things to say - _Don’t make Bucky’s sacrifice worthless. You have to stay strong, for Tony_ \- known just what fears to exploit in order for Steve to shake off his grief and embrace his anger, to pick up the fight against Hydra Corp.

And those same fears Fury had exploited then, he continues to use now.

“I’m trying to make sure that Tony is not one of the inevitable casualties.”

“Because you actually care,” Steve sneers at Fury, “or because he’s necessary to the cause?”

Fury doesn’t even bother responding; they both know the callous answer.

“Do you want to take over his training, or do you want Red to continue?”

Steve can feel the panic building in his chest. He sees how easily Fury has backed him into a corner. Fury might have needed Steve in the beginning, but the Revolution is bigger than any one person now. Neither Steve or Fury has the power to stop it. The tail-enders will revolt. The only questions remaining is when and how many people will die in the process.

“Red,” Steve swallows thickly, hating the idea of leaving Tony’s safety to someone else. But Red…Red is the best fighter among them. “Have Red do it.”

 

———

 

Steve startles awake to a pained scream from further down the train. It takes a few moments for his brain to start firing on all cylinders, but then he quickly rolls off the cot and checks the bunk above. An empty bed with rumpled sheets greet him and he feels his heart drop into his stomach.

Crouching down, Steve reaches under the bottom cot and pulls out their storage box. “Wha?” Bucky grumbles, one hand reaching out to feel the empty spot beside him. “Whatsamatta?”

“Tony’s missing,” Steve finally finds the knife and then pushes the box back under the bed. “Heard yelling coming from Fury’s compartment.”

Blinking slowly, Bucky frowns as he tries to make sense of the words through his haze of exhaustion, but then his eyes widen and he’s scrambling out of bed and stopping Steve with a hand on his arm. “Give me the knife,” he orders, tone allowing for no arguments. Steve is about the same size as his friend now, but Bucky’s got years of fighting experience on him.

Fully aware that Bucky is far more deadly with the weapon than himself, Steve carefully places the knife hilt in Bucky’s outstretched hand. An icy chill seeps into their bones as their socked feet slap against the cold metal floor. Before they get very far, they hear the light pounding of boots headed their way and Bucky lowers into a defensive stance, knife held steady before him.

“Steve! Bucky!”

Steve pushes past Bucky, dropping to his knees and opening his arms wide to catch Tony as the boy hurdles into them. There are tears streaming down his face and blood on his clothes and they can barely make any sense of his panicked babbling.

“Red…we were just playing…wanted to show me a hiding spot in the rafters…” Tony shakes his head as if he’s trying to erase horrible images from his mind. “…saw Sitwell sneaking into…Fury wasn’t even awake…and the blood…oh god, his eye…Fury was yelling…and then Red…Red just attacked…” Tony is getting more hysterical by the second and Bucky makes soft shushing sounds from beside them as he tries to guide Tony’s breathing with slow instructions of ‘in,’ ‘hold,’ and ‘out’ so that the boy doesn’t work himself into a full-blown panic attack.

Most of the tail-enders are awake by now, listening to Tony’s hysterical explanation. There are grave looks and confused frowns all around. Thor listens with an intent look on his face, but when Tony can’t seem to manage a more intelligible explanation, he waves a hand for his followers to gather and then heads off towards Fury’s compartment to investigate. Bucky looks after them, feet shifting as if he wants to follow, but Tony’s crying has him anchored in place.

“Tony,” Steve gently pushes Tony far enough away to get a better look at him. A desperate whine rips from Tony’s throat as he tries to squirm back into the safety of Steve’s arms, but Steve holds firm as he carefully pats the boy down. “Tony, are you hurt?”

The boy shakes his head, his small chest heaving as he sucks in unsteady breaths. “N- No, it’s not my blood,” he stutters, tears choking his voice. “I think Red killed Sitwell.”

 

———

 

Ever since he left Fury’s command unit, there’s been a swell of panic building in Steve’s chest. He ruthlessly shoves it back down and wraps his anger and frustration around himself like a shield.

When Steve marches into Tony’s workspace, the teen doesn’t even bother looking up from where he’s leaning against the table, studying the smattering of papers spread across it. “What’s got your panties in a twist, Boss man?”

A frustrated growl rips from Steve’s throat and he clenches his hands into fists, relishing in the sharp sting as his fingernails bite into the flesh of his palms. “You’ve been training with Red.”

“I’m pretty sure you saw us skipping off together a few times,” Tony offers up, casual as ever in the face of Steve’s accusation. “What exactly did you think we were doing?”

Grinding his teeth together, Steve marches forward and slams his hands down against the table; he takes sick satisfaction in the way his anger makes Tony’s head snap up. The teen involuntarily retreats back a step, back pressing up against the wall as he makes an aborted escape. Tony tries to play it off, lazily crossing his arms over his chest and raising an unimpressed eyebrow, but Steve can see the wariness in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Steve leans forward across the table, papers crinkling under his weight. “You two used to be friends. Maybe you were just hanging out.”

Tony snorts in derisive humor. “We aren’t kids anymore. We wouldn’t waste time doing something so childish as hanging out.”

“Fucking, then,” Steve provokes, knowing full well Tony wouldn't and that his own possessiveness wouldn't allow it.  But the idea of them fucking is still less terrifying than the idea of Tony fighting. “That’s a little more adult, isn’t it?”

He knows he’s made the wrong play by the way Tony’s eyes darken, his tongue sweeping out to lick at his lower lip, hips pushing forward obscenely. “I think I’ve made it blatantly clear that there is only one person on this god forsaken train that I want to fuck, Steve.”

Tension crackles in the air between them, electrifying and stifling all at once. Tony pushes off the wall with seductive grace, stalking closer with a pleased grin on his face now that he thinks he’s got the upper-hand. Demanding fingers tangle in his hair and Steve allows Tony to pull him down into a heady kiss. Wrapping an arm around Tony’s back, Steve pulls him closer, satisfied with the needy moan Tony emits as their hips brush together.

Steve wraps his other hand around Tony’s neck, using a thumb to tilt the teen’s head up so he can lick into Tony’s mouth. Tony is quick to give up control, going lax in Steve’s arms and the blonde lets out a satisfied rumble as he moves down to scrape his teeth against the tendon of Tony’s neck.

“No more lying,” Steve orders, rubbing his stubbled jaw against Tony’s neck just to hear the teen gasp. The teen digs his fingers into Steve’s arms in an attempt to stay standing. “No more going behind my back.”

“Wouldn’t,” Steve presses forward and lifts Tony onto the table. Tony is quick to wrap his legs around Steve’s waist and pull him in. “Wouldn’t have needed to if you’d just let me fight.”

Steve gives a non-committal hum, dips his fingers under Tony’s many layers of clothes, and curls his hands around Tony’s sharp hipbones. Jerking Tony to the edge of the table, Steve thrusts his hips up and groans at the delicious friction it causes.

“Don’t want you to fight,” Steve reaches a hand down to trace Tony’s hard cock through his threadbare jeans. Tony whimpers as his hips roll upwards, pressing his erection against Steve’s hand. “Just want you safe.”

“Safe isn’t a luxury we have,” Tony hisses the words against Steve’s neck, his hips jerking up insistently. “Our survival is precarious.” His voice is low and breathless as he groans the words into Steve’s ear. “But the Revolution can change that. It can secure us a better future.”

Steve kisses him quiet, not wanting to hear anymore. Because he knows that. Giving Tony the future he deserves is Steve’s entire reason for fighting, but he _never_ wanted Tony to get this involved.

Snapping open the button on Tony’s jeans, Steve wraps a hand around Tony’s cock and starts jerking him off. A low whine rips through the air and Tony fumbles to reciprocate, fingers shaking as he releases Steve from his tight jeans. Caught up in his own pleasure, Tony’s hand doesn’t offer much friction, his hold careless and loose, too teasing to get Steve off.

The air is hot and thick around them, the usual, persistent chill chased away by their shared body heat. Beads of sweat drip down Tony’s neck and Steve laves his tongue against pleasure-warm skin to taste it. He can feel Tony’s release building, recognizes it in the way Tony’s lithe body shakes from waves of pleasure. He’d fall apart if Steve wasn’t holding him together.

“Please…”

Stepping back, Steve ignores Tony’s bereft whine and roughly pulls Tony’s jeans further down his thighs. The blonde drops to his knees and roughly grabs Tony’s ass to draw him forward, his mouth hot and ready as he swallows Tony down.

“Fuck,” a hand curls into his hair and Steve hums his approval as Tony pushes him down further. Glancing upwards, Steve feels his stomach tighten with pleasure when he sees just how debauched Tony looks - hair a mess, warm flush spread across his skin, teeth biting into his hand as he tries to stifle his moans. It’s one of the most beautiful sights Steve’s ever seen.

Wrapping a hand around his own straining erection, Steve hollows his cheeks and works towards bringing them both to completion. Bitterness explodes across his tastebuds and Steve swallows down Tony’s thick release with heady satisfaction. Steve’s body goes tight, hips stuttering forward as he comes, his release splattering across the floor.

Tony’s cock softens in his mouth and Steve pulls off slowly, teasingly, tongue laving lazily at the sensitive slit until Tony pushes his head away with a whine. Steve laughs at that, voice low and rough and used, before pressing an apologetic kiss to the soft skin of Tony’s inner thigh.

“Love you.”

 

———

 

Steve startles awake when he feels Bucky roll out of bed. “Where’re you goin’?”

Bucky quickly laces up his boots and then turns to tuck the blanket around Steve. “Gonna meet up with Hogun for training.”

Shifting onto his side, Steve reaches a hand out and holds onto Bucky’s wrist. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Thor and his group.” He rubs a thumb over Bucky’s pulse point, counts out the steady beat for a quiet moment. “Tony misses you.” _I miss you._

The bed dips as Bucky settles his weight onto the edge; he reaches out to clasp a hand around the back of Steve’s head and presses their foreheads together. “I’m fighting for him.” There’s a quick press of lips against Steve’s mouth and he tangles a hand into Bucky’s sweater, wanting him to stay. “I’m fighting for the both of you,” Bucky whispers the words against Steve’s lips, leaning in for one more heated kiss before pulling away completely.

“Love you.”

Cold air sweeps in to fill the void left by Bucky’s warm body and a chilling tremor rocks down Steve’s spine.

 

———

 

It takes them a while to get presentable again, wandering hands and lingering kisses slowing the process. Steve feels light and sated, but he can see Tony itching to say something. After the fourth time Tony opens his mouth and snaps it closed without making a sound, Steve hooks his fingers into Tony’s belt loops and drags the teen in.

“What is it?”

A thoughtful frown pulls at the edges of Tony’s mouth and Steve leans down to kiss it away.

“Tell me.”

Tilting his head to the side, Tony studies Steve carefully, his gaze steady and determined, more mature than Steve likes to give him credit for.

“It’s my fight too.”

Cold dread washes through him, icing over the fleeting warmth they’d shared just a moment ago. Tony must see the distress on his face because the teen heaves a sigh and reels him in.

“Steve…”

Allowing himself a moment of weakness, Steve tucks his face into Tony’s neck and hides. Tony brushes soothing fingers through Steve’s hair, being the strong one as he holds Steve close, holds him together.

“I’m going to fight, Steve.”

The words aren’t provoking or argumentative; they’re just a simple statement of a fact that Steve has been trying his damnedest to deny.

Steve presses a kiss to Tony’s skin, memorizes the feel of Tony’s steady heartbeat against his lips. With a shaky breath, Steve gathers his strength, stands tall, and gives in. “I know.”

_But I refuse to lose you too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the song 'Help I'm Alive' by Metric.


End file.
